


again

by Set_Suna



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, so that stream huh (as of March 1st 2021)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Set_Suna/pseuds/Set_Suna
Summary: If Wilbur had any need to breathe, he thought he would be struggling to do so. Instead, the cold lingered. It clung to his skin like a shell of frostbite. His hands were shaking, as were his knees. He found himself on the ground, staring through this ghostly form of his, suffering from inability and inaction. He pressed a hand against the solid black surface beneath him, slowly spreading out his trembling fingers. This was hell. Maybe not in name, but in feeling. This moment of his undead life was hell.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110
Collections: SBI Family Feels





	again

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GANG if you can't tell I wrote this all today. It's my turn on the Tommy and Wilbur angst for the moment. cause you know. last canon life and all. I don't really like this all that much but sometimes it be like that, hopefully you guys enjoy it!!!

Wilbur felt it before he understood what it meant. A cold chill ran through him. The everlasting darkness around him seemed to ripple, seemed to expand and make room. This was something that had happened before. There was an ache in the spot in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. He felt panic for the first time in months, or what he assumed to be months. He knew this feeling, he didn’t like this feeling.

This was how it felt on that day. That day when Tommy nearly died. Where he challenged Dream and stood at the end of his sword. He’d almost died that day, Wilbur remembered. This space he resided in had made space for him just like it was doing now. There was only one reason Wilbur would be experiencing that again: Tommy was in danger. Tommy might be dying. 

He thought it was over. He thought they could finally _rest_ with Dream in the prison. Tommy was supposed to move on, to live the rest of his life happily and _let him go._ He couldn’t stop the kid from returning to Dream all those times. Now, what was supposed to be the last time, Tommy was in danger. And Wil was stuck. There was nothing for him to do. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Tommy wasn’t supposed to come here, not-not _yet._ He still had so much life to live. Wilbur lost his chance, Tommy hadn’t. He deserved to keep living, to have the happiest life he could after all he’d been through. After how much Wilbur had put him through. Tommy couldn’t die yet. They were supposed to see each other on the other side of this hell, if anything, whether Wilbur wanted to come back or not.

If Wilbur had any need to breathe, he thought he would be struggling to do so. Instead, the cold lingered. It clung to his skin like a shell of frostbite. His hands were shaking, as were his knees. He found himself on the ground, staring through this ghostly form of his, suffering from inability and inaction. He pressed a hand against the solid black surface beneath him, slowly spreading out his trembling fingers. This was hell. Maybe not in name, but in feeling. This moment of his undead life was hell. 

He exhaled shakily, though no air escaped his lungs. He rubbed his other hand across his face, aware how he could barely feel anything there. Suddenly, the chill intensified, feeling the closest to pain than anything he’d felt so far. He balled a fist against the ground, clutched the front of his coat. The space around him continued to expand. It was surer this time. Wilbur wished it wasn’t. He had enough guilt on his conscience. If this was it. If now was the time-

He froze. His entire body tensed. The chill evaporated. His hell stopped opening up. It didn’t shrink, either. He sat up on his knees, slowly turning to look behind him. And he shattered.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He crawled across the ground, kneeling next to the body of his little brother. Tommy was here. Tommy was dead. He couldn’t escape this time. His eyes were closed. He hadn’t woken up yet. Wilbur bit back a sob, reaching out with a shaking hand. He brushed his fingers across Tommy’s forehead, pushing the unruly hair from his face. He could feel him. He could touch him. It wasn’t a vision or a dream or a curse, it was him. It was Tommy. 

In an instant, Tommy’s eyes flew open. Wilbur pulled back as he shot into a sitting position, clutching at the front of his shirt. He looked around wildly, looking as if he was heaving for air, but it quickly settled that he didn’t need to. Wilbur couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything. His mind wasn’t working. Tommy was _dead._ What was he supposed to do?

Tommy looked around, going rigid when he finally noticed Wilbur there. He dropped his hands from his chest. He whispered, “Wilbur?”

“Hey, Tommy,” he whispered back, voice cracking. 

Neither of them moved. They were both at a loss. Wilbur knew Tommy was dead. Tommy knew Wilbur was dead. The teen ran a trembling hand through his hair. 

“He-He…” Tommy trailed off. He swallowed, dropping his hand from his head. “He killed me. Dream…”

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Wilbur muttered, unable to bring his voice above a whisper. 

Tommy took a shaky breath, wincing when he felt nothing enter and nothing leave. He looked to Wilbur, and he could see his eyes gloss over. With a slanted smile, he said, “Sorry I took so long.”

Wilbur watched the tears push from his little brother’s eyes. He lunged forward, bundling Tommy in his arms and holding him tight. He mumbled, “I wish you took longer.”

Tommy’s fingers dug into the back of his coat. Tears were streaming from his own eyes, now. Tommy was shaking and crying in his arms, and there was still nothing he could do. He didn’t know how ghosts could cry, but there was no chance that the tears falling from his eyes were fake. He ran a hand through Tommy’s hair, gently rocking back and forth. 

“I’m so sorry, Toms,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry there’s not more I could do to help you.”

How many times did he have to fail his little brother until the world was satisfied? He had been a monster when he was alive. Everything he’d done was unchangeable now. But still, through it all, Tommy continued to cling to him like when they were young, like those nights where the only comfort he could find was in Wilbur’s arms. He’d been a terrible older brother, but Tommy still wanted him back. There was nothing he’d done to deserve it. He would never deserve Tommy’s forgiveness, but he was willing to try to be the older brother he needed right now. 

Tommy’s face was buried in his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. His shoulders shook with airless sobs that Wilbur could only hope to ease. He felt the tear tracks on his own cheeks like stinging wounds. He’d left Tommy all alone out there for so long. He wished for his words of comfort to work, to have any effect on Tommy at all. He hid his face in Tommy’s hair, chest burning with heartache. 

“You’re alright, Toms, it’s over,” Wilbur eased, holding him tighter. “You can rest now, Toms. You deserve it. It’s okay.”

“I missed you, Wil,” Tommy hiccupped.

“I missed you, too,” Wilbur whispered. “Don’t worry, I’m here now. I’ve got you, Toms.”

Wilbur was stuck. He could barely believe this was real, that Tommy was here in his arms. This wasn’t how they were supposed to meet again. They weren’t supposed to see each other here so soon. It was devastating. Tommy’s life was cut so short. It was unfair. His brother was cold in his arms. Tommy was bright and warm like the sun, that’s what he should’ve been. Now he was cold and dead and nothing like what his Tommy should’ve been. God fucking damn it he shouldn’t _be here._

Tommy slowly quieted down, melting into Wilbur the more he relaxed. He eventually had his little brother practically sitting in his lap. He tangled his fingers in the front of Wilbur’s shirt, staring at his hand pensively.

“I-I’m really dead,” he mumbled. “It… It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“I know,” Wilbur agreed quietly. “It’s rather peaceful, despite how it happens.”

Tommy was silent for a moment. He leaned his head against Wilbur’s shoulder. He asked, “Did I do enough? Did I… Did I do good?”

Wilbur’s heart broke all over again. “Yeah, Toms, you did more than you ever should have had to. You did wonderful. I’m so, so proud of you.”

“Okay,” Tommy whispered. He pressed himself into Wilbur’s side further and mumbled, “What do I do now?”

“Anything you want, Toms… anything you want.”

Darkness held many secrets. It was unyielding and uncaring. It would take hold of you without remorse and never tell you why. Wilbur had grown accustomed to this darkness of his. It was his greatest enemy here, but it had granted him the worst gift it could possibly give. It had given him his little brother, and it had brought him here far too early. Wilbur was angry. He was angry and upset and relieved all at the same time. Tommy’s suffering was over, at the highest possible price. He wanted to go down there. He wanted to storm into that prison and show Dream exactly what he was feeling. But he couldn’t do that. He was chained in his own prison with an equal chance of escape. 

So, he would be still. He would let his anger simmer and cool until it passed. He would take care of Tommy now that he had the chance. He would make the most light out of this as he could. Maybe together they could chase this darkness away.

**Author's Note:**

> hh just I Am Not Looking Forward To TommyInnit's Next Livestream!!!
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/kudos/bookmarks you choose to leave! 
> 
> You can follow my [tumblr](https://quibbels.tumblr.com/) for fic updates and my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/quiblii) to see more stuff from me!


End file.
